Black, Brady Black
by lowdergirl
Summary: (Broe) Brady Black is a spy on the hunt for Dimera. Need I say more?
1. Prologue

Black, Brady Black  
  
Prologue  
  
"And now, Mr. Black, I leave you to die." The stocky, well-dressed man exited the room, his cackling henchmen following behind.  
  
The secret agent looked around him with a grimace of annoyance. "And the bad guy gets away - great." At least he had managed to foil the maniacal menace's evil plan.  
  
He, of course, was none other than secret agent Brady Black, hot on the trail of the Russian mob boss, Vodka Brewski. The trail had led him here, to an ancient castle in Eastern Europe, where Brewski had been assembling a super weapon to be used against "capitalist America."  
  
Agent Black chuckled to himself. "Looks like Brewski just missed the cold war, by two or forty years." But numbness in his wrists and a ticking in his ears reminded him that this was not the time for witty comments. He had to get out of there - and fast.  
  
He took a second to study his current predicament. He was tied, with his hands behind his back, to a large bomb that was steadily ticking down the seconds to his doom. He was in a tight spot, but he never lost his cool. This was just the kind of thing he'd been trained for. His fingers felt along his wrists and the cuffs of his suit jacket. He came across a pair of pewter cufflinks and smiled.  
  
"Good girl, Belle, let's hope these babies work." He pressed a tiny stud in the cufflink and out shot a miniature razor blade. He deftly cut the thick ropes binding his wrists and in a second, he was free.  
  
He turned to study the bomb. The digital faceplate read 4:29 and he knew he didn't have time to spare. He stared at the massive bomb, a complicated mass of jumbled wires and complex machinery. "Why does it have to be a bomb? Why can't I be tied to a beautiful woman for once?"  
  
He stared at the wires, very aware of the passing seconds, and tried to remember his training. But his mind drew a blank. "Hmmm, I must have skipped the day we covered bombs."  
  
The clock continued ticking and a bead of sweat formed on his tan forehead. "Okay look," he reasoned, "no matter how big the bomb is, it always comes down to cutting a wire. So which one is it?"  
  
He found three colored wires connecting the timer to the explosives: green, red, and blue. The studied the wires, having no clue which one to choose. "Well, green is the color of money - and I do like money.. Red rhymes with dead - color of blood, no thank you.. Blue.well, I've always been a sucker for a girl with blue eyes."  
  
He held the knife to the blue wire and sucked in his breath. {Let it be blue,} he prayed as he sliced the wire. He closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion that would rip his body to bloody, goppy shreds. A few seconds passed and he opened his eyes, amazed to find he was still in one piece. He glanced at the clock; it had stopped at 3:18. His knees shook as a wave of relief washed over him.  
  
Then, to his horror, there was a small beep and the clock started up again - this time at 1:00. "Oh, shit!" he swore. A cursory glance told him that he had armed the bomb; no amount of wire cutting would stop it now.  
  
He only had once shot. He spied a nearby window and ran for it. He dove through it, sending glass shards flying in all directions. He fell ten feet and rolled onto a snow-covered bank below. His momentum carried him and he continued rolling down the snowy slope.  
  
Finally with a loud THUNK he landed hard against a silver Porsche. He climbed into his sports car, which was already running, and floored the accelerator. "Now that's what I call valet service. I have to find out how Kevin does it." He keyed the autopilot off and as he sped off into the distance the castle exploded behind him. He watched the brilliant explosion in his rear view mirror and sighed.  
  
"Dad's gonna kill me." 


	2. A New Mission

Black, Brady Black  
  
Chapter One: A New Mission  
  
He pushed open the glass doors and entered the expansive lobby of the Basic Black building. He looked around the bright, sunny lobby in wonder. It never ceased to amaze him how big Basic Black had become. {Not bad for a business that was only supposed to be a front for Dad's real job.}  
  
He headed toward the elevators and along the way he passed many people who greeted him with a cheery, "Good morning, Mr. Black." He smiled his greetings in return. He waved aside the elevator that was being held for him and made for the service elevator in the rear of the lobby. He stepped inside and the polished doors closed behind him.  
  
From his inside coat pocket he pulled out a key and a badge. He unlocked a small hidden compartment and pressed the button inside. A keypad appeared from out of a wall and a computerized feminine voice said, "Please enter your security code." With a muted sigh Brady keyed the code and swiped his badge through the scanner.  
  
Brady's stomach lurched as the elevator began its descent but he knew he wasn't yet through the security measures. There was a retinal scan and a thumbprint scan, followed by voiceprint identification.  
  
Finally the elevator reached its destination and the doors slid open to reveal a large military complex buried beneath the Basic Black building. Brady headed down a wide gleaming white hallway. His quick footsteps rang clearly on the polished floor and soon another set of footsteps joined his.  
  
Brady looked at the young man beside him and smiled. "Shawn, what's up?" he greeted.  
  
"Same old, same old," Shawn Brady replied.  
  
"Saving the world before breakfast."  
  
"And that's on a light day."  
  
The two dashing young agents walked through a set of double doors and entered another series of security checkpoints. They were first scanned from head to toe.  
  
"I swear, if I become sterile from these scans, I'm suing," Brady cracked.  
  
Next came dental x-rays, followed by a simple DNA test. Brady rolled his eyes and plucked a short blond hair from his head. He placed the hair on the tray beside Shawn's. "The security here is so tight it's almost perverted."  
  
Finally they were cleared and passing through another set of doors, they came to a large, scary looking man with an even larger scary looking gun.  
  
"ID please."  
  
Brady smiled. "Morning, Bob."  
  
"ID please."  
  
"We do this every morning, Bob. I walk through that door having just completed a series of insane security tests and everyday you ask for my ID. It's me, Brady Black. I was at your wedding. You served shrimp and the wedding singer did Led Zeppelin's greatest hits."  
  
But the unblinking guard continued to stare at the agent. "ID please."  
  
Brady fished in his pocket and showed him his badge. "You named your son after me," he grumbled.  
  
Guard Bob studied the badge and after a long moment, handed it back to him. "Thank you sir. You may go in now."  
  
The guard checked Shawn's ID and soon both men were through the last double doors. Shawn chuckled. "Why do you do that? You know he's not going to let you in until he sees your badge so you might as well flash it at the beginning and save yourself the trouble."  
  
Brady grinned. "It's just.all this paranoid security crap gets on my nerves. You know I've never been big on authority."  
  
"Or following the rules. I understand you had an interesting evening the other night."  
  
"It had its moments."  
  
"I'm sure," Shawn replied drolly. "Listen, Belle's birthday is coming up and I want to get her something that won't make her mad at me."  
  
Brady laughed. "It's that bad, huh."  
  
Shawn nodded. "I just keep reminding myself that there's only a few more weeks left. So, any ideas?"  
  
"Is she still sensitive about her weight?"  
  
"Yeah, I keep telling her that she's beautiful, that she's carrying our child and is supposed to gain weight. But all she does is eat sardines and cry."  
  
"So clothes are out of the question, and you have all the baby stuff you need. What about a day at the spa?"  
  
Shawn brightened at the suggestion. "Hey, good idea - she always used to love the spa. Thanks, Brady. Hey, I better go. I'm toppling the Spam Empire today."  
  
"Spam? As in canned ham?"  
  
"Hey, don't let its salty goodness fool you. It's pure evil in a can."  
  
Brady chuckled as Shawn walked off. His own pace quickened as he focused his mind toward work. As he walked down the long hallway he passed many people, many of them beautiful women all saying, "Good morning, Mr. Black." But Brady just smiled his devilishly handsome smile and continued on his way. Soon a cute young woman with dirty blond hair approached him. His eyes raked over her appreciatively.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Miss Mimi Moneynickel. You're looking especially ravishing this morning."  
  
But Mimi was unfazed by his flattery. "You could charm snakes with that tongue."  
  
"That may be true but there are so many things I'd rather do with my tongue, and most of them involve you."  
  
Mimi shook her head in disbelief. "Where were you when I was alone and single?"  
  
"Probably tied to a bomb somewhere."  
  
"Speaking of which, I understand you had quite the explosive evening."  
  
"Word travels fast."  
  
"Well, when you single-handedly destroy one of Europe's great landmarks - and let the bad guy get away, it will get around. Speaking of which, "He" wants to see you."  
  
Brady swallowed. "He does?" He looked at the closed office door in front of him. It was a heavy oak door adorned with the gold letters JB. He turned back to Mimi. "Do me a favor, Meems? If I don't make it back."  
  
"I'll notify your next of kin."  
  
Brady straightened his tie and stepped to the door. "He is my next of kin," he mumbled and entered the office. He stopped in front of a large desk and waited for the man behind it to finish his phone conversation.  
  
"I'm looking at the marketing reports now, Kate. Are these the latest figures? I see. Good. Next, let's run some test markets of the new Gigantor Cosmetics line. Great, thank you. Oh, and schedule a meeting for me with Miss Adamson. That's all. Thanks, Kate." John Black hung up the phone and turned to his son.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Black. Have a seat."  
  
Brady sat. "Hi Dad."  
  
John stared at Brady with a half-amused, half-serious expression on his face. He cocked an eyebrow at his first-born. "So what happened?"  
  
Brady shrugged. "Bomb."  
  
"Bomb?"  
  
"Bomb."  
  
John sighed and shook his head. "Remind me to RE-train you on dismantling explosives. It isn't that hard." He took a deep breath. "But none of that matters now. I have a new assignment for you." He stared gravely at Brady. "The phoenix has risen."  
  
Brady's heart fairly stopped. "What? Are you sure? It's been so long."  
  
"We don't have any proof yet. All we know is that there have been a rash of art thefts in Europe recently."  
  
Brady rubbed his chin. "Ahh, reviving an old hobby?" he ventured.  
  
"Perhaps. We don't yet have any information, but something seems off. I can't prove it, but I know it's him. I can feel it. He's up to something, and it's big."  
  
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll find out what it is and stop him."  
  
John looked at his son. "Be careful," he warned. "He's smarter than any foe you've ever encountered. He's elusive, dangerous. I've tracked him down so many times - even had him in my possession once - and he's always managed to slip through my fingers. I almost wish I were the one going after him. But I have a family now to think about. I want you to hunt him down, finish what I started."  
  
"I won't let you down."  
  
John smiled. "I know. According to Shane, he was last spotted in Munich, so you'll begin your search there. On your way out, stop by the equipment specialist to get the tools you'll need." Brady stood up to leave. "One more thing," John called. "Good luck." 


	3. Boys and Toys

Black, Brady Black  
  
Chapter Two: Boys and Toys  
  
Brady left his father's office and headed down the hall toward "The Lab." He opened a heavy metal door and entered a cavernous white room filled with everything from computers to guns to cars. People in lab coats walked around studying the various equipment. Brady's jaunty footsteps rang off the metal stairs that led to the floor below.  
  
He spotted a young, good-looking man sporting glasses and a long white coat. The man appeared to be running a series of tests on what looked to be a watch. He pressed various buttons and jotted down notes, murmuring, 'Trigger mechanism okay.touch too slow on the timing though.excellent design - note to self: send Belle my compliments."  
  
"Hey, Kevin," Brady called as he came up behind the scientist.  
  
The man jumped and turned around. He wore a badge that read, 'Kevin Lambert, Equipment Specialist.' He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I told you," he said in a low voice, "call me K. It makes me seem cool."  
  
"I hate to break it to you, K, but it's going to take more than a letter to make you cool. You're gonna need the whole alphabet," Brady teased.  
  
"Ha ha. So, Brady, blow up any castles lately?" Kevin asked with a broad grin.  
  
"Very funny. Let's just get started, okay? Whatcha got for me?"  
  
Kevin led him over to a long table. "Well, we've got the usual.a watch with standard 2-way radio/tracking." He held up a small pen. "Looks like an ordinary ink pen, but is actually a needle filled with one dose of sleeping agent. You stick someone with this, and they'll be out for hours."  
  
They made their way down the table. "These are ninja stars equipped with a touch of C-4 in the center. Just press the button and throw and three seconds later." Kevin threw one of the metallic stars at a wooden dummy to demonstrate. There was a small explosion and bits and splinters of wood flew everywhere. "Well, you get the idea."  
  
Brady resembled a kid in a candy store. This was easily one of his favorite parts. His fingers roamed over the assorted goodies laid out on the table. He picked up a slender metallic object.  
  
"Oooh, cool! Laser pointer!"  
  
"Put that down!" Kevin snatched the laser out of Brady's hands. "You're gonna put someone's eye out with that thing. This laser will burn through foot-thick brick walls. Very handy."  
  
Many minutes later they had gone through a wide range of items from weapons to surveillance equipment and Kevin was still talking. "Oh, we also made a few improvements on your car.oh, here's something." He picked up a pair of dark sunglasses.  
  
"Raybans? Isn't that more Belle's department?" Brady asked skeptically.  
  
Kevin ignored him. "These lenses are specially designed to pick up infrared light; you'll be able to see laser beams."  
  
"Cool. So I guess we're done here?"  
  
"We are. But I think Belle has some things for you. Oh, and take it easy on the landmarks, will you? You have a license to kill - not blow up ancient castles."  
  
Minutes later, Brady was walking down another pristine hallway. He stopped in front of a closed door that read, "Belle Black Designs." He gave a quick rap on the door with his knuckles and slowly opened the door. He found himself inside a spacious designing studio where a dozen half naked mannequins were crammed into a corner. He turned to another corner, which held a cluttered desk and where a very pregnant woman was talking on the phone.  
  
"Listen, I am looking at the designs right now and I'm telling you that this isn't what you sent at all! This.monstrosity you sent me has ruffles. RUFFLES! There are no ruffles on my design. Yes. Do that please. Thank you."  
  
Belle dropped the phone onto its receiver with an annoyed sigh. "Honestly, do these people not understand that I am eight months pregnant? I do not play games - I will hurt them!"  
  
Her face softened as she took notice of her big brother. "Sorry about that. Just one more fire I've had to put out today. You know, I just want someone to do their job and do it right. Is that so much to ask?" Her big blue eyes filled with tears and before Brady could understand what had happened, she was crying. He placed an awkward arm around her and patted her shoulder.  
  
"There, there," he said, not quite knowing what to do or say.  
  
"I'm sorry!" she bawled, giant tears running down her cheeks. "I don't know what came over me!"  
  
"It's okay. So.how are the mood swings?" he asked pointedly.  
  
Belle brightened and pulled out of his arms. "You know, I haven't really had any."  
  
She walked over to a male mannequin that was wearing a sleek black tuxedo. "Here, let me show you the latest designs. This tux is made from a brand new material. You can't see it but there are fine metal strands woven into the fabric. This fabric will stop a bullet."  
  
"Like a bullet-proof vest."  
  
"Right, only waaay more stylish. However, it won't stop a bullet that's been coated - we're still working on that. Also the fabric can be cut, which means you can be stabbed, so avoid men with knives. Also this tux won't help you if you get shot in the head, so.duck."  
  
She pointed to a small pin on the tuxedo's lapel. "This is another tracking device. It uses GPS (global positioning system) technology to pinpoint your exact location, which shows up then on this." She reached into the tux's inside pocket and pulled out a small LCD display the size of a business card. "See? It's showing an exact map of where you are right now. So you can use it incase you get lost and don't want to ask for direction because you're too busy being a stupid macho guy and so help me, if I'm in labor and Shawn gets lost on the way to the hospital - we're stopping for directions!"  
  
She took a deep calming breath. "You can also use this to track someone else's location. Just pin the pin on them." She smiled at her little joke and then picked up two leather shoes from the floor. "The heels are hollow and hold the basics: knife, radio, plastique explosive, garrote wire, etc."  
  
By the time she was finished, Brady had been weighted down with the tux, the shoes, and about three different suits made of the same bulletproof fabric. "Ooof. Thanks Belle, I knew I could count on you."  
  
Belle smiled and gave her big brother a quick hug. "Just don't get killed, okay?" 


	4. Dreams and Dimeras

Black, Brady Black  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"Higher, Mom, higher!" the little boy squealed. The raven-haired woman smiled brightly at her young son and obliged with a strong push on his swing. The golden haired boy soared high into a sky the color of his eyes. "I'm flying!" he cried, feeling the rushing wind on his face as his mother pushed him higher and higher on the swings.  
  
He heard her laughter behind him, soft, lilting, like music. How he loved her voice. It sang him to sleep each night, woke him gently every morning, and when she laughed, oh it was the greatest sound in the world.  
  
Heavy crunching footsteps told him his father was coming. Sure enough, a strong hand ruffled his hair and a deep voice laughed. "Hey, son, having fun?"  
  
The boy nodded as he came to a screeching, sand kicking stop. He turned to see his father, who was dark haired like his mother. He scrunched up his face. Once again his parents were being "kissy."  
  
He interrupted with a dramatic whine. "Dad, I'm hunnnnnnnngry."  
  
His father smiled as he bent down over him. "You are? Well, then, where would you like to eat? As if I need to ask," he added in an aside to his wife.  
  
"Brady Pub!" he cried, throwing both arms in the air in a V.  
  
"And why do you want to eat there?" his father asked in a mock serious tone, one eyebrow arching playfully.  
  
"Cause it's named after me!" he cried.  
  
But then suddenly the scenery changed. The park had been replaced by city streets. The boy looked around, calling for his vanished parents. "Mom, Dad?" he cried, feeling a familiar sense of foreboding. Somehow he knew what would happen next.  
  
A loud bang rent the air around him and echoed off the neighboring buildings. Finally he saw her and called out for her. "Mom!"  
  
But she didn't hear him, didn't see him. She fell to the ground, clutching her chest. Her white dress had a large red spot on it and it was growing larger every minute.  
  
The boy heard his father's running footsteps. He ran to his wife, face strangely pale. "God, Isabella, no." he moaned.  
  
The boy frowned. What was wrong with his mom? Why didn't she just get up? And why was his father cradling her body in his arms? Why was he crying?  
  
No answers came to the boy as he watched the sad scene. The man rocked his wife's body in his arms, clutching her closely to him as other footsteps ran onto the scene. The last thing the boy saw before the ambulance blocked his view was of his father's angry stony face as he looked up at heaven and howled,  
  
"Damn you, Dimera! Damn you!"  
  
Brady Black awoke with a start. He looked around in momentary confusion as he calmed his racing heart. {I'm on the Basic Black jet,} he realized. {Oh, right, the mission.}  
  
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He'd had the dream again; the flashing images still clear in his mind. He had the dream often and as painful as it was for him to relive his mother's death he was still always glad to see her again.  
  
He was four when his mother was murdered. He had precious few memories of her and it was only in his dreams that he could see her clearly. He saw her again in his mind as she was shot, watched her die in his father's arms. He saw this and remembered with a cold anger that the man who had murdered her was the same man he was chasing.  
  
"Here you go, Mr. Black."  
  
Brady looked up to see a busty flight attendant. The curvy redhead held a drink in her outstretched hand.  
  
"Oh, thanks." He smiled as he took the drink, noticing when her slender fingers brushed against his.  
  
"Don't mention it. If you don't mind my asking, what takes you to Munich?"  
  
{Dimera,} came the unspoken answer. But of course he couldn't tell her that. As his father had told him many times, what was the use in being a secret agent if you're going to tell everyone?  
  
"Oh, just getting a feel for the latest European fashions. Basic Black can't afford to fall even one step behind."  
  
"How exciting!" the attendant gushed, her green eyes traveling over Brady's exquisite figure. Her eyes darted back up to his tan, handsome face. "Well, my name's Candy. Call me if you need anything," she purred suggestively, before leaving the room, hips swaying gently.  
  
Brady chuckled, half tempted to take her up on her offer. He checked his watch. He had the time and it certainly would be fun. But he just sighed and looked out the windows at the white clouds flying by.  
  
He was tired of fun. Fun wasn't meaningful; fun wasn't real. Fun was waking up beside women whose names he didn't know and whose faces he wouldn't remember.  
  
Brady frowned. He wasn't sure when he had become so dissatisfied with his life, but the feeling had been growing for a while. It wasn't that he didn't like his job; on the contrary he loved it. He liked knowing that he was doing something important, that he was making the world a better place.  
  
But it wasn't enough anymore. Something was missing, and he didn't have a clue what it was.  
  
"You have ten minutes," the voice on the other end spoke.  
  
"Ten minutes? Please - I could do it in five - blindfolded, with two arms and a leg tied behind my back, and bleeding from four gunshot wounds," she declared.  
  
The deep voice chuckled. "I appreciate your.enthusiasm, but ten minutes will be just fine." There was a slight pause on the other end. "Be careful," the voice said simply before severing the connection.  
  
"Ten minutes? No problem," she muttered with a confidence she didn't feel. She stared at the security system and felt butterflies in her stomach.  
  
"Come on, girl. Father's counting on you." She took a deep breath and her training took over. She bypassed the alarms and then picked the lock on the balcony's double French doors. She entered the empty bedroom, her padded feet making no noise. A fully trained Japanese ninja could not have been so quiet. She scanned the room, pressing her night vision goggles to her face.  
  
There! She saw it on the far wall. She stared in awe at it. It was magnificent.  
  
"An original da Vinci. Father will be most pleased." 


	5. Munich

Black, Brady Black  
  
Chapter Four  
  
"ISA. What happened?" Brady asked the policeman on the scene, flashing his badge.  
  
The Munich officer looked at Brady's badge skeptically. "You boys must not have much to do if you're investigating a simple burglary," he commented with an air of wounded pride.  
  
Brady sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not trying to take this case away from you or anything. I just need a few answers. This case may be connected to others we're investigating, and it's really none of your business what the ISA does so once again, what happened?"  
  
"Well, there's not really much to tell. No damage, no sign of forced entry - nothing missing except a painting."  
  
"My da Vinci!" a man wailed whom Brady assumed to be the owner of the painting.  
  
"The painting was in a guest bedroom that was unused at the time," the officer continued. "We think the burglar came over the balcony and picked the lock on the double French doors leading into the bedroom. He must also have bypassed the security for the room since the owner, Mr. Favian, insists that he had set the alarm before retiring for the evening."  
  
Brady mulled over the information, his brow furrowing slightly. "This wasn't a typical break-in. The person knew what he was doing and what he was after." He turned to Mr. Favian. "Did anyone else know about the painting?"  
  
"Only about 300 people. I held a ball a few nights ago celebrating my recent acquisition of the piece. I haven't even had it a week." The gentleman sighed. "Still, I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't take one of my other paintings."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"Well this particular painting isn't worth that much, not compared to my others, anyway. Da Vinci isn't really in demand right now. I only bought it because I thought it would go well in the guest bedroom. Just the right colors."  
  
But Brady had stopped listening to the rambling owner. He was too busy wrapped up in his thoughts. It wasn't like Dimera to take one painting and leave others, especially ones that were more valuable. He expressed this concern to his father when he called him later from a pay phone.  
  
"And it's the same thing with all the other thefts. Expert jobs - in some cases days passed before the owners noticed the paintings were gone. And in two of the cases, there were much more valuable paintings left behind."  
  
"What pieces were taken?" John asked.  
  
"Da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks, come to think of it, all the stolen paintings are da Vincis. Hmmm - maybe Dimera has a fondness for his work."  
  
There was a momentary silence on the other end and John pondered this. "No, that's not how Dimera works. His favorite paintings are whatever happen to be worth more at the time. It's not the love of fine art that drives him; it's the love of money. It doesn't make sense for him to pinch a da Vinci, but leave behind a painting worth ten times as much. Unless.he thought that da Vinci's works would soon increase in value," he guessed.  
  
"Why would they do that?"  
  
"Different things can affect a piece's art value. If some new bit of information were learned about the artist, like an affair with a famous countess or a secret murder, then the demand for his works could go up. I'm not sure; this is really Hope's area of expertise. But still the value wouldn't go up by much - not enough to justify the effort Dimera's going through to acquire them. There's something more at work here. We need more information."  
  
"Okay, I'm going to check some local places - try and get a bead on where Dimera is and what he's doing," Brady said.  
  
"Good. Keep me posted."  
  
"You must really love that painting," she said as she entered the room. "You've been staring at it for hours."  
  
The graying gentleman looked up from the canvas. "Ah yes, but of course. How could I not love it?" He took a few steps back from the painting. "Look at it! The lines, the form, the colors! Da Vinci was a genius - look at the subtle play of light and dark. No one mastered chiaroscuro quite like he did. Sheer genius. Come, my dear, what do you think?"  
  
The tall raven-haired woman stared at the painting. She crossed her arms, her slender fingers drumming along her bicep. "It's pretty. I like it."  
  
The older gentleman gave a hearty laugh and caressed the girl's cheek. "I'm glad. When I am done with it, you may have it."  
  
The girl smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with delight. It wasn't the gift of the painting that so moved her, but the obvious and adoring love the man showered her with. She gave him a quick hug. "Thank you, Father."  
  
"My pleasure, my dear. Now, don't you have an engagement?"  
  
The girl nodded and exited the room and the man went back to studying the painting. He bent forward until his face was mere inches from the canvas.  
  
"Now, Leonardo, what secrets are you hiding?" 


	6. Blue Eyed Siren

Black, Brady Black  
  
Chapter Five: The Blue-Eyed Siren  
  
"Vodka. Straight up."  
  
"Here you go."  
  
"Thanks." Brady took the drink and paid the bartender. He took a casual sip as his blue eyes swept over the smoky lounge.  
  
The lounge was part of a massive building that also housed a swanky casino that just happened to be run by a local crime boss who worked for Dimera. Brady straightened his tie. He would have to tread carefully here; he was in enemy territory.  
  
He smiled when he spotted a man sitting alone in a dark booth. He walked over in the man's direction and took a seat at the booth behind him so the two men were sitting back to back. Brady opened a newspaper and held it so that it partially obscured his face. He then spoke softly to the man behind him, in the pretext of reading his paper.  
  
"You stick out like a sore thumb, Jase."  
  
Jason Masters chuckled softly and held a sleek cell phone up to his ear. "Well, that's kinda the point," he replied as if holding a phone conversation. "See the man at one o'clock?"  
  
Brady glanced surrepticiously over the edge of his paper in the direction Jason had indicated. He saw a beefy man in a fine cream suit and dark sunglasses surrounded by even beefier men in a dark corner booth. He seemed strangely familiar.  
  
"Isn't that?"  
  
"Yes," Jason interrupted. "Alistair Krum. Big time baddie. In everything from drugs to gambling to terrorism. ISA's been watching him for a while, trying to get hardcore evidence against him."  
  
"Okay, still doesn't explain why you're going out of your way to be as conspicuous as possible."  
  
Jason grinned. "Now, check out the guy at ten o'clock."  
  
It took three casual glances in that direction before Brady spotted a man in a far corner. Brady glanced at him again. There wasn't a remarkable thing about the man. He was, in a word, nondescript. The kind of person you forget about a second after you take your eyes off of him.  
  
"He's good, isn't he?" Jason asked, his eyes twinkling.  
  
Understanding dawned on Brady's face. "Of course, the Serroff Gambit. You're the decoy, acting as the obvious spy, so when Krum 'throws' you off his tail."  
  
"Krum will act without knowing we're still watching his every move."  
  
"Wow, I'm impressed," Brady said.  
  
Jason shrugged. "It was your father's idea. So, what brings you to Munich?"  
  
"Phoenix," he answered softly.  
  
There was a sudden intake of breath like the hissing of a snake. Brady could detect an undercurrent of concern in Jason's otherwise calm voice. "Risen from the ashes, huh?"  
  
"Looks like it. There have been some funny art thefts recently - definitely his style. He was last spotted here and I'm trying to find out exactly where he is and what he's up to."  
  
There was a moment of silence from the other booth. Jason whistled softly. "Wow - I don't envy you. Look, I'll keep my eyes and ears open. If I catch wind of anything, I'll let you know."  
  
"Thanks, man." Brady sighed heavily.  
  
Jason shook his head. "I know that sigh. Mr. Black is going all broody and introspective again - what's up, man?"  
  
Brady's lips curled into a wry grin. "Why are you here?"  
  
"I thought we just covered that - remember Mr. Krum?"  
  
"No, I mean, why are you doing this? What keeps you coming back day after day?"  
  
"Chicks, man. What else is there? Come on, Brady. We're living every guy's dream: guns, fast cars and faster women. It doesn't get any better than this."  
  
Brady chuckled. "I shoulda known I'd get that answer from you. Look, I better go - there are some other places I want to check out.." He trailed off suddenly as he became aware of a strange sound filling the lounge. Someone was singing.  
  
{Just some lounge act.} He moved to leave but something held him in his booth as if he'd been glued there. The beautiful notes washed over him and he suddenly had the mental image of his mother singing him to sleep at night. He turned his head, searching for the source when suddenly he saw her.  
  
She stood on a small stage some twenty feet away bathed in a soft spotlight. Brady could not believe his eyes. He'd been with beautiful women before: supermodels, actresses, there was even that female spy he met in Kiev - but this girl easily beat them all.  
  
She was tall and curvy, and her legs - wow, did she have legs - were long and bare, glistening in the spotlight. She wore a short black sequined dress with a halter-top design that revealed a fair amount of cleavage. She had a heart shaped face and creamy tan, almost Mediterranean, skin.  
  
But the thing that Brady noticed right away and made him want to forget his name was her large, almond shaped, blue eyes. The intensity of the blue in her eyes was matched only by his own; hers were just a shade darker, cobalt to his sky-blue.  
  
And now those cobalt eyes were fixed on him and her song washed over him and all thought left his brain. He could only watch and listen as she sang a soft, smoky lounge song.  
  
*Neon lights Warm and windy nights While a scrap yard kitten starts to cry And the dust-covered memories fill my eyes.  
  
Caught in dreams With crystal streams And I can't see where they're flowing to But soon it will end Yes, soon the sun will rise.  
  
It's a phantom world; it's a phantom world And it's fading in the night It's a phantom world, no there's nothing real Soon the ghosts will fade out of sight  
  
Rockets fly, so far away Through the gold fan of a sun ray When they come back home All the ghosts of the past will be gone.  
  
Her notes faded as the instrumental solo kicked in. Brady risked a glance at Jason. "Who is she?" His voice sounded pale.  
  
Jason grinned. "That, my friend, is Chloe Lane, rising opera/pop star and European socialite. She attends all the best parties and biggest balls and is a regular in the gossip columns. It's even rumored that she's received a marriage proposal from a member of European royalty. Why she's still single."  
  
But Brady paid little attention to his friend's words for her singing had started again. Her eyes, her voice were filled with such emotional depth that he had a hard time believing that the hardest part of her day was deciding what dress to wear to what ball. No, she may be a social princess now, but she wasn't always. There was pain in those intense cobalt eyes; pain and loss. And he was only too familiar with both.  
  
And so it wasn't really surprising that after the song ended and Chloe had left the stage, that Brady found himself following after her.  
  
*Phantom World - From the movie Armitage III (awesome movie - Japanese animation - kick ass) 


End file.
